


The One Where Justin Goes to a Hockey Game

by LaVieEnRose



Series: The One Where Justin Loses His Hearing [17]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Deaf Character, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hockey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVieEnRose/pseuds/LaVieEnRose
Summary: "I hate hockey," Justin said.Brian said, "Really? I didn't know that, because you haven't told me five hundred times.""I still don't get why I have to be here.""People like me more when you're around. You make me look like I have a soul."





	The One Where Justin Goes to a Hockey Game

Let's get this out of the way: I have absolutely no, zero, zilch interest in business. I'm working on my Master's in Education. I've told my dad that a hundred times, and it's always the same thing: “Son, trust me. Everything is business.”

Today, there was an extra dose of, “You should be grateful for this kind of opportunity” and “Not everyone has the kind of father you do” and “Lucky I'm bringing you along with me” and on and on and so on and so forth while he straightened my tie outside this advertising agency in Astoria. My dad never learned more than a few signs, but I've been reading his lips and seeing these speeches my entire life, so I could practically do it with my eyes closed.

We walked into this office that was...kind of amazing. The lobby had high, lofty ceilings with wooden beams criss-crossing and cutting sharp angles in the corner, and the whole thing was done in chrome and dark wood. A blonde woman smiled at us from a desk in the center. “Can I help you?”

 “Reg Breyer,” my father said. “And this is my son, Leo.” 

“And you are...” She looked at a clipboard on her desk. “Breyer and Son Hearing Aids. Sorry, I've been out of the office so we had a temp doing the scheduling. Italy,” she said to me, eyes glittering. “I bought nine pairs of shoes.” 

I decided I liked her. 

“Hearing aids, okay, so I'm going to assume you're with...wait, Isabel? That's not right.” She shook her head. “No, you should be with Brian.” 

“We heard Isabel was good,” my father said.

“Isabel is _fantastic,_ ” she said. “But Brian's the president. The Kinney in Kinnetik. And I think he'll have a special interest in managing this account. Let me go check if he's available, and I'll be right back with you?”

My father agreed, and she headed back through a set of glass doors. My father looked at me. “So you're going to be paying attention here, right?”

“I told you I would.” 

“And if he asks you—” 

“Then I'll tell him I've been wearing your hearing aids my whole life and they're phenomenal,” I said. “It's not going to come up, Dad.”

“People like to hear a product's good before they throw their weight behind it,” he said. “Even ad execs.” He lowered his voice and looked around. “Not that we'll be sticking with this one. Just moved to New York this year, from Pittsburgh? When you see some of the agencies we're meeting with later...”

The woman poked her head out from behind the door and beckoned to us, and we followed her into a room with a high, rounded ceiling, a couch, a table, and a massive wooden desk. The only color in the room came from two big abstract paintings, one behind the desk and one on the wall behind the couch. The acoustics in here were probably amazing, I thought idly.

A handsome guy somewhere in his thirties shook my Dad's hand, then mine, giving me a bit of a smile. “Brian Kinney,” he said.

“Reg Breyer,” my father said. “My son, Leo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Brian said. “So you're...” Brian looked down at his paperwork. “Hearing aids. Huh. And you weren't originally scheduled with me? How did that happen?”

“The temp,” I said.

My dad shot me a look, but Brian nodded and said, “That's right. Well, you're in the right place now, that's what matters. Please, have a seat, and tell me what you're looking for.”

We sat on the couch and Brian rolled his desk chair over, reading our file. “So you have an interest in hearing aids, huh?” Dad said. “Your secretary said.” 

“Assistant. And yeah, my partner's Deaf.”

“Your...business partner?” Dad asked.

Brian pointed to a thick black ring on his left hand without looking up from our file.

Dad cleared his throat. “Ah. Does he wear hearing aids?”

“Heeeee does not, he's profoundly Deaf.” Hearing aids are only helpful if you have some residual hearing, since all they do is amplify what you already have. No residual hearing, no use wearing aids. “He used them for a while before he lost all of his hearing. So I have some experience. And, of course, vested interest.”

“So he signs?” I couldn't help but ask. “Your partner?”

Brian nodded, and I tried not to look too excited.

“Did he go to Gallaudet?” I asked. “Maybe I know him." 

“No, he lost his hearing in his twenties.”

Dad put his hand on my back, either to shut me up or show me off. Or both. I looked at him. “Leo was born Deaf,” Dad said. “He's the reason I got into hearing aids. Nothing was giving him the kinds of results he needed to be able to speak and follow conversations. But now look at him." 

Brian nodded slowly. “That's great. You know, we can do this in sign language—”

 **He doesn't sign,** I said.

Brian raised an eyebrow. **Do you want an interpreter?** His signing was smooth, confident.

 **It's fine, I read lips well.**  

 **I could have mine here in twenty minutes. She's very good.**  

**I'm okay, really.**

Brian then laid out his plan for an ad campaign, and I'm not going to lie and say I found it particularly captivating—I told you, I have no interest in this shit—but it did sound innovative, and I couldn't not notice how Brian faced me directly and spoke clearly, and I'm not going to pretend that didn't help win me over. Brian talked for ten minutes, and in that time he'd put together a complete two-year plan for Breyer, with phases of advertising, tiered marketing campaigns, and all sorts of shit I understood in some vague sort of way.

And then my dad hemmed and hawed about the other agencies we still needed to hear from and I remembered what he'd said out in the lobby. He had no plans of hiring Kinnetik.

Brian said, “Of course, naturally you weigh your options. Who else are you talking to?”

Dad looked like he was considering not answering, but he also wanted to show off who he scored meetings with. “Ignite and Irina Braverman.”

“All right, well, between you and me, Ignite just lost their art department director and they're floundering. You don't want to get in bed with them right now. Now, Irina's a genius. Does incredible work...when she does it, which isn't often anymore, because she brought in eleven million dollars for herself alone last year so she's not exactly hungry. If you sign with her, you're not going to be working with her; you'll be working with her intern's intern's intern. You're getting the name brand without the name. See, here, you get a boutique agency with a dedicated, powerful focus, and the guy with his name on the front personally invested in the health and success of your business.”

My dad hesitated.

“Tell you what,” Brian said. “There's a Rangers game tonight and we have a company box. Why don't we take in the game and talk a little more about what I can do for your bottom line?” He turned to me. “I'll bring my partner. He'd love to hear about Gallaudet.”

Well. My dad would never turn down a hockey game.

“One thing, though,” Brian said, as he let us out. “Justin doesn't read lips.” He looked at me like he was trying not to smile.

 

**

Brian was already in the box when we got there that night, signing urgently with someone short and blond. What was the name Brian had said? Justin.

My dad nudged me. “What are they saying?”

**I hate hockey, Justin said.**

Brian said, **Really? I didn't know that, because you haven't told me five hundred times.**

**I still don't get why I have to be here.**

**People like me more when you're around. You make me look like I have a soul.**

**You're going to hell.**

**I care about you and that makes them wrongly assume I have the capacity to care about other people. Plus you're charming, and I want this account. This guy's richer than Satan and this is our reward for you losing your hearing.**

**Am I also supposed to be fooled into thinking you have a soul, or...**

**You should be happy about this,** Brian said. **Hearing aids! You love hearing aids.**

**Do I?**

**You will once I devise an amazing Deaf-positive marketing campaign for them.**

He rolled his eyes. **Deaf-positive. This guy won't even sign with his son.**

 **I'll buy you something pretty for the apartment,** Brian said.

**Oh, you bet your ass you will.**

Brian smiled. **Is that a threat?**

“They're, um, just talking about the game,” I said, mentally tucking away “richer than Satan” for future use.

We entered the box and Brian turned to us with a dazzling smile, shaking my hand—mine first!—and then my father’s. “So glad you could make it,” he said. “This is Justin Taylor, he’s an artist and a gallery curator in Chelsea.” **Just introducing you** he signed in an aside to Justin.

 **I figured,** Justin said, with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

Brian looked at him inscrutably and then signed while he said, “Justin, this is Reg Breyer, his son Leo.”

Justin shook our hands, then showed me his sign name, one finger tapped next to his mouth. **I don’t have one,** I said. **Just fingerspelled.**

 **My friend Ben is the same way,** Justin said. **I think he was jealous he didn’t get a sign name.**

 **Leo's a good Deaf name,** I said. **Easy to fingerspell, easy to lipread.**

My dad asked Brian some question about the game, and that lead to Brian going up to the glass to point something out on the ice, and Justin and I drifted over to the refreshment table at the other end of the box.

 **So, father son business,** Justin said to me. **That's what my dad always wanted from me.**

 **It's father and son in name only,** I said. **I'm working on my Master's in Education. But it's Spring Break so I couldn't get out of being dragged along. No offense.**

**None taken, I was dragged here too. Where are you studying?**

**Gallaudet. I did undergrad there too.**

Justin groaned. **I am so jealous. I'm consistently annoyed I didn't lose my hearing a few years earlier so I could have gone to Gallaudet.**

 **It's not too late,** I said.

 **Yeah, it is. My life's too settled now.** We sat down.

 **You sign really well,** I said. **I would have guessed you were a lifer. So does, um...** I gestured at Brian. Fingerspelling his first name felt way too informal, given the suit he was wearing.

Justin showed me his sign name, a B and a K at his temple, then smiled. **Thanks. We only started learning three years ago, but, you know. Plenty of practice.**

 **I didn't learn until late childhood,** I said. **My parents tried the oral thing for a while. Finally I convinced them to send me to a Deaf school.**

His eyes lit up. **How was that?**

**Amazing.**

**I feel so jealous sometimes that I missed out on all these experiences of being young and Deaf,** Justin said. **I had a good life and...I think I enjoyed being hearing. I don't know. But I think about all the stuff I'll never get to do as a Deaf person and I get so depressed sometimes. If I'd gotten to go to Deaf school and make Deaf friends and really be entrenched in Deaf culture instead of now...I still feel kind of outside, some Deaf people still look down on me.**

 **You're always going to find people who think they're Deafer than you,** I said. **I get it for not having Deaf parents.**

**Same with gay people, I guess. God forbid you be bisexual.**

**Gatekeeping.**

Justin nodded. **I have a friend who didn't realize he was gay until college, and he feels the same way, and like...I get it. Being a gay teenager was awful, it was really fucking awful sometimes, but it was also...you know, formative. And if you miss that there's no going back.**

The game started, but Justin and I barely paid attention. We talked endlessly about Gallaudet, and art, and I asked about his Deaf friends in New York and he asked about my girlfriend in DC.

 **Is it weird dating a hearing guy?** I asked.

 **I think it would be if we hadn't met way before I lost my hearing. He was there with me when I was figuring everything out. In a lot of ways he's as Deaf as I am.** He glanced over at him and my dad, deep in conversation. **In other ways not.**

**Yeah.**

**You read lips? What are they talking about?**

I looked over and watched them for a minute. **Us.**

 **Of course. Two hearing guys can't plan a campaign on hearing aids without giving lip service to the Deaf poster boys,** he said. He slumped in his seat a little. **Sorry. Very cynical.**

**No, that’s pretty much exactly what’s going on. I would know, I’ve been the mascot my whole life.**

**Jesus.**

**I’m kind of surprised Brian didn’t get an interpreter.**

Justin gave me a significant look. **That makes two of us.**

**Gotcha.**

**I mean, you can get by without one.** He hesitated. **Can I ask you something?**

**Of course.**

**So I have this little brother, he has a cochlear, and his parents are raising him oral.**

**Oh, yeah, okay. Let’s get into that.**

We were so deep in conversation that I’d honestly forgotten a hockey game was even happening—I couldn’t hear anything other than the occasional whistle, and Justin I assume couldn’t hear that—when Brian came over a while later. He gave a tight smile to Justin and asked him, **Having fun?**

He returned it. **Sure am.**

**Fabulous. Enjoying the game?**

**No, not at all.**

**Then would you come over and socialize with us for a while?** They both still had these fake smiles plastered on their faces.

Justin craned his neck around Brian to see where my dad was standing. **Oh, did you get an interpreter?**

Brian’s smile slipped. **I can interpret.**

**So now you’re not even in the conversation? It’s just me talking to this guy who did exactly to Leo what my dad is doing to Luke about what an amazing ad man my partner is and how sad it is that I’m too Deaf to use his amazing product? Pass.**

**You know, I have spent hours making boring as fuck small talk in galleries.**

**You like art. And real quick, remind me what language that was in?**

**I can come over and interpret,** I said, but only Brian saw.

 **And it’s not with someone who thinks you’re an object of pity. Or worse,** Justin continued.

Brian glanced over his shoulder and then looked at Justin, hard. **Darling. Do you think we can pick this up at home and right now you just go over there and make conversation for five minutes? Leo said he’ll interpret.**

**Fine.**

**My hero,** Brian said.

We went back over to my dad, and he tucked me under his arm and ruffled my hair and directed my head sideways to show off my hearing aid to Brian, and Justin sipped his drink and watched politely while I interpreted. Brian was making an effort to sign while he spoke now that Justin was here, but the thing about simcomming is you inevitably end up favoring your stronger language and your weaker one starts to crumble, and it wasn't hard to tell which was Brian's stronger language.

Finally, Brian nudged Justin forwards a little, and my dad seemed to notice him. “So you're an artist!” my dad said.

**I am. I'm preparing for a small show in the village and I also curate for a gallery in Chelsea.**

I interpreted, and Brian signed, small, **Could you speak, please?**

 **No,** Justin signed back.

“Congratulations,” my dad said. “That's an incredible achievement.”

**Thank you very much.**

“Can I ask you how that job works out for you?” he said. “I imagine not every artist who walks in knows sign language.”

 **Of course not,** Justin said. **But I'm an assistant to a woman who's hearing and signs. Most of what I do is screening artists before we meet with them, and then administrative tasks for her.**

“Oh, okay. That makes sense,” Dad said.

Brian glanced at Justin. “Justin is more than capable of doing anything a hearing person would do in his job,” he said, and I signed it for Justin. “He's just new to the job, so of course he's not running the gallery right away. But he will, someday, if that's what he wants. He'll have an interpreter.”

Dad said, “Of course, in an ideal world, that would be the case. But unfortunately we all know that's not the case, right?”

Justin raised an eyebrow at Brian.

Brian says, “Well, of course there are challenges.”

“If your boss didn't sign, she probably wouldn't have taken a chance on you at all, right?” Dad said. “Even though of course she should have, but some people are just...close-minded. I'm sure she knew you'd have a difficult time getting hired somewhere else. I keep telling Leo, this is the problem with something like a degree from Gallaudet...you're automatically limiting yourself to Deaf jobs, or getting lucky and finding an exception like you did.”

Brian closed his eyes briefly, and I forced myself to interpret that without wincing, or hitting my father.

 **Getting lucky,** Justin repeated. I saw Brian's fingers very, very lightly grab the back of his sleeve.

 **I'm sorry,** I said.

Justin shook his head a little and turned to Brian. “I'm not feeling well, I'm going to go home.”

Dad said, “Hey, he speaks real well.”

 _“Dad,”_ I said.

Justin shook my dad's hand and then mine and handed me his card before he walked quickly out of the box. Brian watched him go and then said, “I'm just going to get him into a cab, I'll be right back. Keep an eye on Henrickeson for me, let me know if he...” He waved his hand like he was too lazy to come up with the rest of the sentence and followed Justin.

I waited a beat and then said, “I'm going to go ahead and go to the bathroom,” to my dad, who shrugged and opened another beer.

It didn't take me long to spot Justin speedwalking towards the exit. Brian caught up with him and grabbed him by the arm, and I watched from what I hoped was an inconspicuous distance.

Justin sighed and turned around.

 **I'm sorry,** Brian said.

Justin just watched him.

**Come on, I'm saying I'm sorry!**

**...Okay?**

**That's character growth! Saying sorry unprompted?**

**We're calling that unprompted?**

**Okay, that's fair. But still, come on. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. Can you just come back?**

**Brian, what the fuck, I'm not coming back. You're thirty-seven years old—**

**That has never been proven.**

**—you think you can just say sorry and all of a sudden everything's fine? No. That works for Gus, not you.**

Brian sighed. **I should have gotten an interpreter. I thought it would be crowded or that Breyer would feel like I was...I don't know, insulting him or something. I was wrong and I should have gotten one.**

Justin stared at him.

Brian said, **So...okay?**

**No, not okay! You really think the extent of what you did wrong here was not getting an interpreter?**

**I mean, that guy is an asshole, but you can't blame me—**

**How about not introducing me as your partner, what the fuck was that?**

**You're such a fucking girl, Christ. I already told them you were my partner back at the office. What the fuck do you think I said, come to a hockey game, and I'll find some Deaf kid off the street to keep your kid company?**

**That's exactly how you fucking acted,** he said. **Like I'm some African orphan from your charity that you're bringing to the benefit to show off what good work you do.**

**Come on.**

**You don't get to parade me around when you need to prove you know something about Deaf people,** Justin said. **You don't get to take credit for me!**

Brian raised an eyebrow. **Excuse me? Because I seem to recall plucking your ass out from under a streetlamp—**

**That was different! That was before!**

Brian pinched his nose. **I told you this account was important. What the fuck do you think pays for the apartment?**

**That doesn't mean you get to hold me hostage.**

**Will you stop being such a fucking queen? No one is holding you hostage.**

**I told you I didn't want to come to a hockey game. I'm sitting there fucking losing my mind watching the sticks swing around hoping to God they don't start a fight, and then I have to get up and perform for you like some sort of trained monkey. This is bullshit.**

Something about that got to Brian, I could tell. He looked kind of...stricken. **I thought...it's not like it's a baseball game, I thought...**

Justin shrugged.

 **I'm sorry.** Brian grabbed him and pulled him in for a hug. Justin let him, but he didn't exactly hug back. Brian let go and said, **I mean it, okay? I'm sorry.**

 **I just don't think you get it,** Justin said. **All this Deaf stuff. And I thought you did, so I'm just like...dealing with that.**

**Let me go in and make some excuse to them, okay? And I'll take you home.**

**No, I'm not going to be the reason you lose this account. That's not going to help anyone. Just...go in and be brilliant and I'll see you at home, okay?**

**Justin.**

**I'll see you at home, go.**

Brian sighed and turned around and went back to the box, and Justin started back towards the exit and that's when he saw me. He groaned and walked towards me like he was walking to the electric chair.

 **Please don't tell your dad about that,** he said.

**I won't.**

**I'm just pissed at him,** he said. **I don't really think...listen, he's a good man. And more importantly, he's the right guy for your account. Don't let us arguing make you think any different. This is just our shit.**

**I get it. Are you okay? I'm sorry my dad is such a fucking asshole.**

He gave me a weak smile. **I know the type. And I'm fine, just getting a headache. Can you do me a favor and help Brian cover in there? I know he's flustered, and...I don't want him to blow this over me having a bad day.**

**Okay.**

**And text me sometime, okay? My number's on the card. It really was good to meet you.**

I went back to the box and watched Brian charm my dad. He didn't need my help. And he didn't really look flustered to me, either.

But as he was saying goodbye to us, he shook my hand and brought his other up to his chest and rubbed it in a quick fist. **I'm sorry.**

That night I told my dad to hire him. And the weirdest part? He listened.

**

We went back to Kinnetik for a follow-up meeting before we went home. Brian's assistant led us into his office, and a minute later Brian and Justin walked in together.

“Ah, it's both the Kinneys!” my dad said.

The look of terror on Brian's face was so hilarious that I forgot to interpret. “Oh, God, no,” he said. “Definitely no, no. Not in this lifetime.” He turned to Justin and explained, **He called us the Kinneys, and...I'm sorry, I can't. It's a bridge too far.**

**Oh, Jesus, don't apologize. You think I want to be a Kinney? You guys are a fucking mess.**

**Oh thank God.**

**Kinney. Christ. What do I look like, a belligerent alcoholic Irish Catholic from Eastern Ohio? Fuck.**

**Fuck no. You look like an old money pill-popping Protestant from Western Pennsylvania.**

**You're damn right I do. I'm a Taylor.**

A woman knocked on the door of the office, and Justin smiled and went to let her in. “That's Stephanie,” Brian said. “Staff interpreter.”

I smiled a little, and I swear Brian winked at me.

Stephanie and Justin joined us by the couch, and Brian said, “Justin's going to be working with us on this campaign. Taking the lead on the design work as well as making sure that we have a campaign that's putting a Deaf voice, so to speak, front and center in deciding how we market a product to Deaf consumers. It's great PR for the company and it also makes sure we avoid any missteps that could be offensive or even just stale.”

Justin watched Stephanie and nodded.

“Plus,” Brian said. “He's really damn good at what he does.”

Justin grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> I have ideas for a few more stories but if you have anything you'd like to see, please feel free to prompt! I'm especially hungry for h/c prompts because they're my favorite thing to write but they feel so self-indulgent unless someone's asking me for it, but I'm open to anything!


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